


Get Well Soon

by Savageandwise



Series: Hear Me, My Lover [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, M/M, McLennon, POV First Person, Post-Break Up, Suicide Attempt, really angsty, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 08:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11916684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: Red was the colour my baby wore.Absurdly, when I woke my first thought was: Paul was wearing red the last time I saw him.





	Get Well Soon

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote it in response to my ongoing prompt marathon on tumblr.  
> The prompt was: Suicide Attempt, Paul, 1970  
> 

You wrote that we should let each other out of the trap.

  


That’s what you wrote. The rest of the letter was about business. You just left it there nestled among all your other demands and complaints for me to discover like the sixpence in a Christmas pudding.

We should let each other out of the trap.

And what happened then was I sent you a card that said: ‘Get Well Soon.’

I thought it was pretty fucking funny. I even laughed out loud to myself as I licked the stamp and stuck it on. I laughed. She laughed too, Mrs. Lennon. And the strange thing is I thought you would think it was funny.

And then you did what you did.

You did it.

You did it, Paul.

How could you do it?

Fuck. How could you?

How could you leave me?

Was that why? That silly card?

The straw that broke the camel’s back.

I swear to you. Swear to God. I swear, Paul, when I sent it I never thought you’d do this.

The phone rang in the middle of the night and Yoko picked up. As soon as she said hello I knew something was wrong. I’d been dreaming of Julia in the road, her bloodstained dress, her hair was matte brown as if death had leeched all the colour from it.

Red was the colour my baby wore.

Absurdly, when I woke my first thought was: Paul was wearing red the last time I saw him.

When I think of it now it was unusual because you’d been wearing all those dark colours and the beard and the shaggy hair. Like you were competing with Martha. Because you didn’t give a fuck, I thought at the time. Because you are beautiful no matter what. But particularly when you wear red. That wasn’t it, was it?

Classic Lennon obtuseness.

You were in pain.

I wanted you to be of course. But that’s because I didn’t understand.

Cutting you was like cutting myself.

“Linda,” Yoko said. “Linda. Slow down.”

I knew it was about you because there was a note of panic in Yoko’s voice. One I associated with you alone.

“Linda. You have to calm down,” she said brusquely. Yoko has no patience for hysterics.

“Give it to me,” I said, sitting up and sliding on my glasses.

When she finally did, Linda was crying so hard I could barely make out what she was saying.

She said you were in hospital. That Heather had found you. Heather! Paul. Heather!

She’d found you in your music room, headphones still covering your ears. She thought you were asleep till she saw the puddle at your feet. Puddle of red.

Fuck, Paul.

“I knew it was bad, John. The drinking. The… he hasn’t… he stopped bathing... but I didn't... I didn't think...”

I shuddered. I knew you were in pain and I sent you a card.

Get Well Soon.

I told her I was on my way.

“No. Don’t come. If the press gets wind of it…”

“You think he didn’t consider that before doing this?”

Did you consider me?

I went anyway because why the fuck did she call me if she didn’t want me there?

“What the fuck did you call me for then, Linda? Why the hell did you call me? If you didn’t want me there?”

Fucking bitch. Fucking cow. Fuck her.

How did she expect me to just sit at home? When you… you… Paul. Darling. Darling.

“He… Heather said he was awake. Right before she got me. She said… he…”

Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop it.

“Linda, sweetheart. Linda, it’s going to be alright,” I assured her. “Stop crying.”

“He said your name. I asked her if she was sure- she insisted. She said she heard him call out: John.”

You called my name.

It seems like these days I spend more time in hospitals than anywhere else. Linda had to come fetch me before I hit the doctor who said they wouldn’t let me see you. Only family, he said.

“I _am_ his bloody family!” I screamed.

Linda was covered in red. I couldn’t hold it in, I vomited against the wall. She said it was alright. The smell of blood was nauseating. I stroked the sleeves of her shirt. There you were, Paul. All over her.

“They said he’s stable,” she explained. “He lost a lot of blood. They had to give him a transfusion. He was awake for a bit. He’s in and out.”

I said I understood but I didn’t understand a thing.

“What was he listening to?” I asked her.

She just stared at me in confusion.

“You said his headphones were on… when Heather… when she…”

“ _Pet Sounds._ It was 'Caroline, No'. He’s been listening to it for days.”

_I remember how you used to say_

_You’d never change, but that’s not true_

_Nothing’s going to change my world_

_Nothing’s going to change my world_

_Nothing’s going to change my world_

She led me in to see you and then she left us alone. I don’t think I’d ever seen you lie so still before. You were white as a sheet. Your hair stark black in contrast. They’d bound your wrists in gauze. I was afraid if I touched you, you’d fall apart.

There I sat, Paul. There I sat before you. And I was so angry because you promised me you would never die on me. Not you. You wouldn’t die.

And then you did this. It was like you were spitting in my face.

And I remembered why I left you in the first place. Because the idea of one day losing you felt like dying. And I could see it happening day after day. How you didn’t need me for much more than a quick fuck and an encouraging nod when you were writing.

Well, that wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t nearly enough, Paul.

And the fact that you wouldn’t say anything. Wouldn’t… couldn’t…

I wanted something that would last forever.

There’s no forever for people like us. Not in this world.

When it was over, that’s when you realised what you were losing.

You know what?

It got me off.

Your misery. Every time you said my name. Called me 'Johnny.’ Tried to evoke a bygone time. When you were hungover. When you were high and incoherent with regret. When you let me do things to you, let me humiliate you. When you let me take you as if you were no one, nothing… less than one of those whores in Hamburg.

When you were miserable it got me off.

Why Paul? Even then. Even then you couldn’t give me what I wanted.

Why?

I took your hand at last leaned in close. I said it again and again: I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

Except I find it difficult to say what I mean and mean what I say. The lie comes out truth.

_(I love you. I love you. I love you.)_

“That’s all I want to say,” you murmured.

You nearly stopped my heart when you spoke.

“You’re here,” you said.

“Where else would I be? You idiot!”

“Stop crying, baby. You’ll scare the other patients.”

I wasn’t crying. But my glasses were fogged up and my face was wet.

“John,” you croaked. “They told me I died. For about a minute.”

The gauze was soft against my lips as if I could kiss you whole again.

“Did you see your mum?” I asked.

“No.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw you, John.” You smiled like it hurt you.

My beautiful man. My love.

“What did I say?” I asked.

“You said: No more rain.”

**Author's Note:**

> The story of this very short fic it this: I had a conversation with Clarinetta about Paul's depression in the aftermath of the break up of The Beatles and we speculated about what would have happened if Paul had tried to kill himself instead of throwing himself into his music. When I started the prompt marathon she asked me if I'd give it a shot and I was delighted to. It's a very dark subject but I think ultimately all my fics are really mostly about love even when they're dark. So thank you so much for the prompt Amy! Also thank you for suggestion I use Caroline, No. 
> 
> I basically wrote this fic yesterday at work even though it was a pretty busy day. As a result it's a little rough but I think that suits the subject matter.
> 
> Even though it's short I still managed to put some song references in:
> 
> Yes It Is, The Beatles  
> Caroline, No, Brian Wilson  
> Across The Universe, The Beatles  
> Michelle, The Beatles  
> Too Much Rain, Paul McCartney
> 
> Tani! Thanks for mentioning Michelle at a crucial moment last night (it was 2 am for me) it fit right in there!
> 
> The frame of the story is Paul sending John a letter in August 1970 that said: "We should let each other out of the trap." (I'm assuming he was speaking of the contracts) John replied by sending him a card that said 'Get Well Soon'. The source for this is Adam Thomas "Lennon vs. McCartney". I'm not entirely sure it's true but it worked for this fic. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
